


Cullinary Skills

by ashkatom



Series: FBaTNverse [8]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 10:12:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashkatom/pseuds/ashkatom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein a life on the run has never taught Sufferer how to survive in a nutrition block, to devastating results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cullinary Skills

**Author's Note:**

  * For [temporalDecay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/temporalDecay/gifts).



> Going through all my fic, I found I never cross-posted this. For shame! This was a promptfic, with the prompt being, "Dualscar<3Sufferer. Prompt: “There must be *something* you can cook. Anything!” Bonus round for Dualscar’s cape catching fire."

You are learning a lot of things about Dualscar. The first and foremost thing that becomes obvious, when you dump a pile in a spare room of his wreck and refuse to leave, is that he is completely, unutterably lonely. It’s a strange concept to you, since you have spent most of your life being a makeshift chair for either Psi or Disciple, but Dualscar has spent ‘a long time’ alone, and a long time for seadwellers is, well, probably longer than your lifespan.

He shows it in little ways. He knows you like pancakes, so he makes them whenever he wakes up before you, complaining about carbs and seadweller metabolisms the whole time. The third time it happens, you figure out it is a very badly executed bribe to have you stick around, which is quite possibly the dumbest thing you have ever heard of, and once again, you grew up with Psi and Disciple.

It also sticks in your bloodpusher like a niggling thorn. So the next time he makes pancakes, you sit there and watch him measure out ingredients, mix them together, and fry the result. He sees you watching and hands you the whisk (which you strongly suspect is a reappropriated torture device) halfway through, and then after that you both wind up covered in pancake batter, and Dualscar sprinkles chocolate chips in your hair as the ‘finishin’ touch,’ and beats you to the ablution stall while you’re still attempting to save the poor innocent chocolate.

The result of your careful watching and less-than-careful whisking is the ability to make at least one pancake, which you attempt to repeat several times despite the raw ingredients fleeing from your presence by any means necessary. You manage to accumulate a stack by the time he gets out of the shower, chocolate chips and all, and place it on the table at his usual seat just as he walks back in.

He sits in front of the plate and looks at you. You make a shooing gesture until he picks up a fork and carefully takes a bite.

“It’s certainly… edible,” he says. You are about to admit defeat and go take ablutions when he starts laughing, and in retaliation you throw the whisk at him and run off to take ablutions anyway. “I’m teachin’ you how ta cook properly!” he hollers after you.

It is your not-so-private opinion that this can only end poorly.

—

Next comes bread. You always assumed that bread was basically magic, which means that when Dualscar explains the science behind yeast you are incredibly let down. The most remarkable moment is when you wave your dough-encrusted hands in the direction of his hair and he knocks over the salt as he recoils.

“You know how a watched pot never boils?” he says, hopefully, as you stare at the bread and wait for it to rise.

You shoosh him, in case he disturbs the yeast.

“I’m just sayin’, we could leave it alone an’ go do somethin’ else-”

“Shoosh!” You hug the bowl the dough is rising in to your chest and glare at him.

“Livin’ with Dol broke you,” he informs you, sadly.

The crust burns a little, but you cut it away and shove it in your mouth before Dualscar can say anything. He just shakes his head and offers you the butter.

—

“Fried dough rings,” you posit. You’re playing yet another round of holy-shit-you-can-make-that-in-your-hive and you are determined to win, except that you haven’t really taken into consideration that everything was probably created by gourmauls in their hives.

Mostly it is just an excuse to see Dualscar puff up his fins and take offense at the thought that he cannot accomplish everything, which is always guaranteed to put you in a good mood. He’s like Disciple trying to defend her territory. Step one: Make yourself appear bigger to scare off intruders.

True to form, his fins flare out as he frowns. “A’ course.”

Step two: Prance around a bit to establish boundaries.

“Really, Suf, it’s just a yeast dough that’s fried instead a’ baked, you could even do it.”

Step three: Challenge.

“I’ll show you how,” he concludes.

—

For once, you are reasonably sure that it is not your fault when the oil you’re frying dough rings in spontaneously bursts into flame. The fact that you screech at a pitch that you haven’t been able to produce since you were a grub and attempt to climb Dualscar probably is your fault, although you consider it to be the fault of the fire, which is not your fault, and thus you are hardly responsible for kicking the pot over as you climb up Dualscar and spreading the fire over the nutrition block.

It is at that point that things get utterly terrifying.

Dualscar, taking rather unkindly to the fact that his nutrition block is on fire and that you are basically riding his horns, tosses you out the door while holding a concerto in the pitch of fuckin’ hell. Even you know better than to dump water on an oil fire, but it still surprises you when he rips off his cape and attempts to smother the flames with it. Unfortunately, all this accomplishes is spreading the fire around the block further, and also soaking Dualscar’s cape in fire and setting it alight.

You realise that you are about to die because you wanted fried dough rings, and have just about made peace with the fact that it would have been totally worth it if you’d actually gotten any fried dough when Psi barrels in and a psionic field snuffs out all the flame.

“I told you,” he pants at Dualscar, “not to let him near the nutrition block.”

“How did you know?” you ask, given that Dualscar is now coughing his lungs up in a rather delayed reaction to the fire.

“Everywhere ith covered in thmoke!” He grabs you by the shoulders and shakes you. “SF! You are never allowed anywhere food ith created ever again. Underthtand?”

“What if-?” you protest.

“No!”

You look at the remains of the nutrition block and droop. Even you have to admit that never being near anything cooking ever is probably a good idea. “Could you get me a glass of water, then?”

Psi picks his way over to the sink as Dualscar carefully walks on uncharred pieces of floor over to you. You cringe, expecting him to be angry about the soot all over his nutrition block, the ruins of his cape, and the complete disarray of his hair, but he leans down to you and whispers, “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

You punch him in the shoulder and try to stop a grin from splitting your face.


End file.
